


No. Halt. Reset.

by EssayOfThoughts



Series: MCU Maximoff Oneshots [82]
Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: Character Study, Codependency, Conditioning, Gen, Pietro Has Issues, Pietro is a broken smol with Issues out the wazoo, but you don't notice at first because he's cheerful and a lil shit, in that what Pietro does in this is condition his own damn self
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-06-17
Updated: 2016-06-17
Packaged: 2018-07-15 13:06:48
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,714
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7223491
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/EssayOfThoughts/pseuds/EssayOfThoughts
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The first time it happens is when they are finally hauled out. Two days of choking on dust, and Wanda is huddled under a blanket just across from him, her hand in his in the gap between them and Pietro does not think Wanda, his fire-and-lightning sister, has ever looked so small. Wanda is a storm, Wanda is the blood beating in his heart and hers, she is as strong as nature and as essential as their heartbeats. She shouldn’t be so scared, so small.</p><p>There, in that moment, Pietro makes a decision. In the back of his mind, ideas begin to form, begin to tamp down on some ideas for the sake of others.<br/> </p><p>
  <i>No. Halt. Reset.</i>
</p>
            </blockquote>





	No. Halt. Reset.

**Author's Note:**

  * For [wandasmaximoffs](https://archiveofourown.org/users/wandasmaximoffs/gifts).



> Basically, a lot of people know Pietro is fucked up, but I haven't seen many who explore _how_ and also _why_ yet. I figured it was time.

**i.**  
The rubble is crushing down over them. Pietro can feel the beams of the building, the slats of the bed they’re hiding under, pressing into his back, his skin straining and splitting from the maintained pressure. He doesn’t move. If he moves, Wanda will die.

They are twins. He cannot let his sister die.

 

* * *

 

 **ii.**  
The first time it happens is when they are finally hauled out. Two days of choking on dust, and Wanda is huddled under a blanket just across from him, her hand in his in the gap between them and Pietro does not think Wanda, his fire-and-lightning sister, has ever looked so small. Wanda is a storm, Wanda is the blood beating in his heart and hers, she is as strong as nature and as essential as their heartbeats. She shouldn’t be so scared, so small.

There, in that moment, Pietro makes a decision. In the back of his mind, ideas begin to form, begin to tamp down on some ideas for the sake of others.

_No. Halt. Reset._

Pietro decides, then and there, that Wanda will never be so scared again, so small again. He decides, then and there, that he is going to protect her.

 

* * *

 

 **iii.**  
Over the next few days Pietro _No. Halt. Reset._ ’s a lot. The first day at the orphanage, the other children playing, he bruises Wanda’s wrist when he yanks her out of the path of the soft sponge ball that had been thrown wide.

Pietro saw the bruise, saw the beading tears in Wanda’s eyes and _No. Halt. Reset._

He lets go of Wanda’ wrist, links his fingers through hers. “Sorry,” is murmured, eyes on the ground. He hears the huff of Wanda’s laugh, and can hear the smile of her forgiveness in it. “Want to play with them?” he asks.

Wanda’s fingers squeeze his. “If you’re going to be as quick as that,” she says.

 

* * *

 

 **iv.**  
Later that evening, when Wanda is sleeping on the bunk below his, Pietro chastises himself. He could not do this when Wanda was awake - she would notice, she would worry and he does not want to, ( _No. Halt. Reset._ **Will** not) will not dare to make her worry, but now, with her soft, even breaths from the bunk below his as she sleeps, Pietro chastises himself.

 _I hurt her_ , he thinks, and in his mind rings _Unacceptable_.

In his mind rings out, _No. Halt. Reset._

He cannot hurt Wanda, must not. He hurt her because he yanked her wrist and there are a myriad ways he could have solved that. He could have tugged Wanda closer when they were walking, could have elbowed her lightly so she would duck, could have walked with his arm around her shoulders, ready to pull her close into a hug and out of the path of the ball.

He could have noticed it was a _sponge ball_ and not a _frigging bomb_.

Pietro spends half of the night chastising himself until Wanda wakes from a nightmare and he drops down to her bunk to comfort her.

 

* * *

 

 **v.**  
Pietro learns to curl himself around Wanda, an arm over her shoulder, a hand on her sleeve, to know immediately when she enters a room or leaves it, to make himself listen until he can hear her breath beside him in a noisy room and know from that alone if she is tired or stressed or worried.

Pietro learns look faster, to see what is flying towards them and to know what it is ( _sponge ball, football, apple_ ). He learns to know which children bully and loom, and would threaten them if they weren’t always at each other’s sides. He learns which ones will bully anyway and how to redirect them to others, to get Wanda out of the way, out of sight, so she doesn’t even realise he’s doing it to protect her.

Pietro learns how not to fight, for as simple a reason as Wanda wants ( _No. Halt. Reset._ **needs** ) him not to.

 

* * *

 

 **vi.**  
It first happens one evening at dinner. Wanda is holding her plate carefully and her food almost goes all over the floor when one of the older children shoves her. Pietro’s arm is around her shoulder though, and stops her from stumbling, and she catches her own plate, tilts it so no food is lost. (If the food had slipped off that would have been that. No food for Wanda.)

( _No. Halt. Reset._ No food for Pietro. He would give her his plate.)

Pietro sees the one who did it, the annoyed, entitled frown, as though he has a right to want to watch the other children starve. (Pietro sees him trip one of the younger ones, sees his grin, and after what the boy did to Wanda, Pietro wants to _fight_.)

(Pietro glances to Wanda and his mind- _No. Halt. Reset._ )

He can’t fight. He will get in trouble. He cannot help Wanda if he is in trouble.

(The child, crying, sits at the end of the table. The boy looks smug. Pietro scrapes half his food onto the girl’s plate and the smile Wanda gives him for it makes his heart swell in his chest.)

Pietro decides, then and there, that whatever the effort it takes to deny, to pause, to change his mind, every _No. Halt. Reset._ is worth it, for smiles like that.

 

* * *

 

 **vii.**  
It takes Pietro years to pin it all down. From ten to fifteen he pins down all of the small precise details of how to ensure Wanda is never so scared, never so small again.

He gives her his food, when there is little for them all. He steals food from stalls and shops and students so Wanda has enough to be strong, to be healthy. He shares his food with the children because it makes Wanda smile, and with how bad things are in Sokovia making Wanda smile every day becomes a challenge he knows he must succeed in. Pietro learns how to fight, how to take a beating, how to ensure that while people will pick fights with him they won’t lay a hand on Wanda.

(Pietro learns how to teach Wanda to fight just as well as he can, until the next time Mikhail is beating him up for protecting the smaller ones Wanda knocks him to the floor, her boot slowly crushing Mikhail’s neck, before any of his friends are there to stop her.)

Pietro learns everything he can to make sure that Wanda is fearless, that Wanda is safe.

(Pietro has always known how to comfort her after nightmares, because nothing can protect them from them, not any more.)

Pietro gets used to controlling his breathing within ten seconds of waking from a nightmare, learns that it is more calming for him to comfort Wanda after his nightmares than to be comforted himself.

(He doesn’t know _how_ to be comforted, any more, even by Wanda. He knows how to smooth a hand down her back, to brush his fingers through her hair, press a kiss to her brow and breathe her in like life’s breath, to reassure himself by her presence, by the fact she is _alive_ , and to let that calm him as he helps her clamber out of the depths of her fear.)

It still takes him two more years before he learns how to apply all of this to protect Wanda from the world.

 

* * *

 

 **viii.**  
Most of the time, Pietro doesn’t have to think about it any more. His brain _No. Halt. Reset._ ’s, channels his thoughts into circuits and cycles created years ago, tended by each decision after.

It isn’t in Pietro, really, to run counter to them any longer. The occasional childish desires - to do his own thing, to go elsewhere, to have something to his life beside being there for Wanda - fade, or are crushed, or are bound into the service of helping Wanda.

(If he can keep Wanda safe, he reminds himself, if he can get them both to a place they are secure and where no one can touch them, then he can do whatever he wants. He will get them there, whatever it costs him.)

But in the end, all of these things, these things are for _them_ . Pietro can protect them from bullies because he can see them coming, he can get them out of the way of a bomb or a racing car or the police because he can _see them coming_.

He doesn’t see the gang war coming, their first night on the streets, and it almost gets Wanda knifed.

 

* * *

 

 **ix.**  
_Stupid_ , he thinks first of all.

 _Unacceptable_ , he thinks next.

 _Check_ , he thinks third, hands running over Wanda, checking the knife didn’t cut her, that she is alright.

“I’m fine,” she says, slapping his hands away with gentle fondness. Her eyes are wide and dark, her face still has traces of fear in her expression.

( _Unacceptable_ , rings his mind, loud and clear as a death knell.)

( _Wrong_ , he thinks, consciously. It is _wrong_ that Wanda should ever be afraid.)

He is still thinking, feet shifting side to side restlessly, as Wanda’s hands run over him, checking he is unhurt. He is reasonably sure he is fine but it is soothing to feel Wanda’s presence.

“The church,” Pietro says as Wanda steps back. “It is consecrated to them, even if it is a ruin. They will not try to hurt us there.”

He can see Wanda considering, eyes darting around the alley - bins, binbags, the ladder of the fire escape, the bin-bonfire in the street - as she considers his suggestion. “They may try to hurt us when they learn,” Wanda says. “Two lapsed Jews taking shelter there.”

Pietro stays silent. He has made his suggestion, knows Wanda will think out both sides of the equation as she weighs its usefulness in her mind. (Pietro remembers watching them become this, watching Wanda lean into his protectiveness and offer her own form of it back - she will not fight quite so recklessly as he, will channel her anger into purpose, decide her vengeance carefully and with such precision he cannot ever hope to match, but she can guide them, pick their path so neither of them come to clashes like this again.)

Wanda nods, the light of the fire catching her eyes, making them glow with the reflection. “The church,” she says. “They fear it, as well as respect it. They will fear us, respect us, if we stay there and are not moved.”

Pietro picks up their bags, stands at Wanda’s shoulder as a guard as they walk towards the centre of the old city.

 

* * *

 

 **x.**  
The streets, once they settle into them, are fine. Wanda still insists they go to school ( _of course she does_ , thinks Pietro with a laugh. He doesn’t mind really. Anything if it makes Wanda smile) and they find jobs, find food, find some odd kind of security on the streets. The church gives them much of that kind of safety - no one tries to touch them there; they do, as Wanda said they would, fear them and respect them for staying there. Wanda learns who the neutral kids are, the young ones, and Pietro protects them too, when he can, as Wanda befriends them and builds a network of helpers throughout the old town.

To Pietro it doesn’t feel all that different. He’s as on-edge as ever, watching for threats to Wanda, his _No. Halt. Reset_ . singing out _PROTECT_ in fierce bold letters through his memory, from the bomb, from the bullies, from the men with knives. (Pietro won’t let anyone lay a hand on Wanda, now or ever.)

But he still gives his food to Wanda when there isn’t enough. They still go to school, and Pietro learns only that which he knows he can apply to keeping Wanda safe, or getting them money, while Wanda grasps everything she can with both hands. Pietro still steals for them, when they have no other options, pinching food, filching money, getting everything he and Wanda need, putting off the more untenable options for work until they have no other options left.

The summer they turn eighteen they decide to try for the countryside - there are always jobs out there in the summer, helping the farmers prepare for harvest. Novi Grad has a thousand waitressing jobs for Wanda, a hundred delivery jobs Pietro can manage from his stolen bicycle, a myriad options, good and bad, to earn them money.

But they haven’t been out of the city since they were small, and some part of them both yearns to see it again.

 

* * *

 

 **xi.**  
Pietro sees the smoke rising from the barn and he _runs_.

He’d left Wanda there, just for a moment, just to get them some food, but they were supposed to be _safe_ here, have temporary jobs for the summer, have a place to stay, some _security_.

But there is smoke rising from the barn, and as he nears he hears shouting.

(He doesn’t realise until later that he sprinted all several hundred metres of the road in a matter of moments.)

There are people there, gathered around. People shouting.

People calling out _witch!_ and no sign of Wanda at all.

He sprints in and the barn is full of smoke. He finds Wanda, choking on smoke, huddled by their backpacks and grabs Wanda, grabs the bags, sprints them outside.

(He sees the scarlet sparking at Wanda’s fingers, but doesn’t say anything. Now is not the time for scarlet smoke and impossible things. Now is the time for safety.)

“We’re safe,” he whispers to Wanda when they have got a mile away and are hunched in the shade of a great tree. His hands are cupping her jaw, thumbs stroking over her cheeks, trying to erase the fear from her face. “We’re safe,” he says, “We’re safe. None of them can touch you here.”

Wanda lets out a great shaking breath and gently collapses against him.

Pietro is worried, Pietro is panicked ( _I shouldn’t have run that fast, Wanda shouldn’t have scarlet chasing out of her fingers, what is happening, what is happening?_ ) but he knows this. Knows how to do this. He strokes his hands through Wanda’s hair, down her back, and focusses on comforting his sister as he has since before they both can remember.

 _Do I tell her_ , Pietro wonders, as Wanda’s arms around his chest loosen. _Do we acknowledge this? Did I even see this? Maybe it was just adrenaline, shock, fear. Maybe,_ he hopes _, it is nothing at all._

 _But Wanda should know,_ he thinks. _Wanda deserves to know, I should-_

_No. Halt. Reset._

Pietro knows, as surely as he does that Wanda knows the best paths for them, as surely as he knows how to comfort her, as surely as he knows that Stark must be ended, that if he tells Wanda she will worry endlessly and it will do her no good at all.

Pietro tucks the memory away into the hidden corners of his mind, and decides to say nothing at all.

 

* * *

 

 **xii.**  
Wanda plans, Pietro protects. That is how they have become, with how Pietro has remade himself with each and every _No. Halt. Reset._

Pietro guards them, Wanda guides. Pietro will steal more risky things for the street children, for the poor, for the needy, because though it can sometimes make her worry for him it can also make her smile, to see small children laughing to have food, to have a new football, to see their parents well. Pietro will stop when Wanda demands it of him.

(She never does. She reminds him of the risks, over and over, but she will not tell him to stop. They know, more than most, what it means to help and be helped in what there is of Novi Grad.)

It is Wanda who takes them to the protests, who decides how much they show their disapproval, their distaste, their outright hatred of whichever new regime has rolled in. (It is Wanda who fights, now, in her own way, because with all that Pietro has done for her she has become fearless.)

It is with Wanda at his side he sees the Doctor and his men and hears the promises they offer on silver tongues.

 

* * *

 

 **xiii.**  
_We can’t_. _We can._ _We shouldn’t. We must._

He can see each thought on Wanda’s face, warring. Promises can be lies, this they both know.

But sometimes, sometimes a little hope is better than nothing.

Wanda decides. They go to the castle.

 

* * *

 

 **xiv.**  
Wanda decides. It is as simple and obvious to Pietro as anything, decided firmly by the time they were twelve and Wanda had begun to notice the small things that Pietro was doing to keep her safe and decided that she must do her part as well.

(“It’s only fair,” she had said, and Pietro agreed. Fairness was important, between twins. Fairness was important to Wanda, and so it was important to Pietro. Fairness made Wanda smile, and that was more important still.)

Wanda decides, in the end, and Pietro has lived eight years absolutely certain of this fact and has come to hate moments like these, where he must decide whether to tell Wanda something.

(He prefers to tell her everything, it is simpler, easier, to tell her, to let her see, to let her know and to judge and to decide how to protect them in the way that she does. Pietro will fight anyone for Wanda. Wanda will find the path for both of them that means he doesn’t have to.)

But this. This will make Wanda worry to know. This will make Wanda fret, make her upset and uncertain and _scared_ and that is _Unacceptable_ (it rings out of his mind still and quick on it’s heels-) _No. Halt. Reset_.

Pietro’s tension eases. He cannot tell Wanda and worry her, make her upset and uncertain and scared. That is not allowed. These people, this HYDRA, these secret Nazis are keen to keep themselves _secret_. That he heard was chance. That Wanda too will hear is unlikely.

Better to wait. Better to wait for these people to give them powers, some means by which they can fight and escape and _decide_ freely and knowingly, than to worry know.

Pietro decides, tucks his self and his decisions back into the paths he has made. He cannot tell her now, must wait, must wait until they have powers. When they have powers, then Wanda will decide what path they take, when she will have no reason to be afraid of what these people might do to her, because she will have the power to stop them.

(Later, much later, Pietro will think back to this decision. He can never quite make himself regret it, despite it all.)

 

* * *

 

 **xv.**  
They get powers.

(They are the only ones to get powers.)

Pietro’s speed sends him spinning into walls, and he _hates_ this, hates this feeling of rushing, the motion blur, the feeling of sickness in his throat and stomach. Wanda, he knows, is sending scarlet spinning out of her fingers, warping the world with it. If he has the speed he never mentioned then Wanda has the scarlet he never said he saw.

(This he knows, down to his bones. They should not have powers, what they can do now is not right, is not natural, but it is as much a part of them as their blood.)

Pietro runs into a wall again and he wants to _punch_ but _No. Halt. Reset_.

He must remain in control. He must learn to control this. He cannot fight this opponent, cannot hurt, cannot kill. All he can do is fight and hope and learn to manage, until his speed is like wings and and not illness, until they let him into a room with Wanda again.

(They do let him into a room with Wanda, but only when she is at her worst - he is the only person who can calm her from nightmares, and no matter what he sees her scarlet do he cannot fear it. It is a part of Wanda, and Wanda will never hurt him. That is why he must never, will never, _can never_ hurt her.)

Pietro tames his speed to his control and waits for them to let him spend time with Wanda again.

There is, after all, something he must tell her.

 

* * *

 

 **xvi.**  
“We stay,” Wanda says, and Pietro bows to her decision. He can see it, so clearly in his mind, how it works with Wanda’s scarlet dancing through it all, helping him manage the dizzying speeds his blue can take him to. The water beneath the tree of his mind flows _just so_ , the roots twist _just so_ , the tree grows _just so_. When the water reaches the leaves - then he has made a decision, then something must happen. When the wind blows, when it howls through the lianas- then something is wrong, apart from the winds that dance and howl and sing around the edge of his mind, between his mind and the bond to Wanda’s, keeping them distinct from each other.

He can see, now, how Wanda’s words send water darting up the tree, to the leaves, how they alone make a decision happen, so instinctual it is barely even thought about.

 

* * *

 

 **xvii.**  
It is so instinctual that even vengeance cannot override it.

“Are we just going to let him take it?” is more a question of _Are we still going to take our vengeance?_ than questioning Wanda.

Wanda knows best, Wanda always has, always does, always will. Wanda has decided to wait, and the decision in Pietro’s mind to hold back was made from the moment she raised her hand.

 

* * *

 

 **xviii.**  
Wanda decides, Wanda decides, Wanda decides. He is running down the ship when he feels her pain and it is not even a _No. Halt. Reset._ that sends him rocketing back to his sister, but a huge dark wave of _PROTECT_ singing through his mind, up from the depths of his well.

Wanda is not conscious to tell him not to, so he kicks the archer through a window. Wanda is not conscious to tell him what to do next, so he tears the taser from her forehead, scoops her into his arms, takes her outside, waits for her to speak.

 _I will kill him_ , turns into _No. Halt. Reset_ . into _to the Quinjet_ in but a matter of moments.

All it takes - all it ever takes - is Wanda’s words. Now, with his speed, it takes Pietro even less time to react, to do as she asks.

All it ever takes, now, after all these years of training himself, deciding, over and over that this is the right course, is for Wanda to say so, Wanda to decide so.

Wanda is fearless. Wanda can do anything, and Pietro will stand at her side to keep her fearless, to protect her from those who would stop her.

(That was his promise. That was his first decision. Wanda is not small, is not scared. Wanda shines like the stars.)

 

* * *

 

 **xix.**  
He senses Wanda’s fear, hears Wanda cry out and is at her side in a moment. _What hurt you what hurt you what can I do, tell me-_

He tugs Wanda to him, checks her eyes - afraid - and his speed uncurls in him, ready to fight, ready to escape, ready to do whatever Wanda needs.

“You said we were going to destroy the Avengers,” Wanda says, doubt and fear and worry and uncertainty in her tone, and Pietro is ready to take them from this place at a moments notice.

(He is not strong enough, fast enough, to fight all of Ultron’s bodies here. If they were outside, had more space, maybe, but here, in enclosed corridors, with innocents around them? He will not risk it. Wanda would not have him risk it. The only option left is to take Wanda and leave.)

(But oh he wants to fight, wants to destroy this risk, this threat, this accidental making of Wanda’s magic, one that will weigh on her and bring her guilt and sorrow and _fear_ , that thing which is-

( _Unacceptable._ And ever, following on it’s heels, _No. Halt. Re-_

Ultron shoots Cho, and Pietro bolts.

He wants to fight, wants to, but this is _Wanda’s_ safety, Wanda’s fear, Wanda’s worry.

Wanda must never be small and scared again. Wanda will be worse than that if she is dead.

The _No. Halt. Reset._ that rocks through him in the moment it takes for the last to be broken mid-cycle is blinding, binding as the first, and Pietro finds his instincts rising out of him like blood.

 _Wanda’s safety first_.

 

* * *

 

 **xx.**  
He does not need Wanda to tell him what has made her so afraid - he can see her worry, guess it, tease it out of her from her posture, her reactions, her every movement. Ultron aims to destroy the world and everyone in it.

And it was Wanda who put the impetus for Ultron into Stark’s head.

There are things he can say to this, he knows. That it was Stark’s bomb that drove them to this in the first place, that Stark was not under her control, only influenced, that Ultron is his own person, capable of his own decisions, able to refrain from this madness if he chose.

Anything, to tell Wanda this does not weigh on her shoulders.

There is too much to say. There is too little time, there is _so much happening_.

There is a train though, and Ultron, and the Avengers. They see the news, Pietro sees Wanda’s face.

It is always, always, so easy.

 _No. Halt. Reset_.

 

* * *

 

 **xxi.**  
_This is not how it works_ , Pietro thinks, but at the same time _yes, this is how it should be_.

Wanda shining, Wanda perfect, Wanda unafraid.

Wanda isn’t small, standing on the dais of the church. Wanda is as vast and shining as the sun.

 _Unafraid_ , Pietro thinks. _Never small again_.

They have come this far, from Pietro’s willing sacrifice, his choice to protect her, his every denial and pause and change of mind. Wanda has seen the shape left by what Pietro chose to shed in order to protect her and has grown, grown into it, grown to fill it, to complete what he has lost so they can be as strong as the sun, as the stars.

 _We have come this far_ , Pietro thinks.

Echoing through his mind, from the roots of his tree, the very well of thoughts it rests above, shaking through the highest branches, shaking loose leaves from lianas, shaking the monkeys, startling the hummingbirds of his mind, it comes.

_No. Halt. Reset._

This is what Wanda has decided, what Wanda has decreed.

“I am seven minutes older than you,” Pietro says, but he is already rocking on his heel, ready to go. _It is my duty to protect you_ , he thinks, but there is no judgement to it, for Wanda asking him to do other than he has shaped himself to.

“Go,” she says. It is a teasing agreement, matched with a smile and Wanda is shining and certain.

Pietro cannot disobey her if it will make her lose her smile. He has fought since they were ten to see that smile again, and again, and again, through all that has happened.

 

* * *

 

 **xxii.**  
He sees the bullets coming. He rocks back on his heel and he knows what is coming. He feels each footstep as he runs, feels the rubble beneath his feet, feels the metal of the car under his hands.

He smells the smoke in the air, and the moisture of the thin clouds, the metallic tang of blood.

He feels the bullets pierce his skin, and knows it is _his_ blood.

He can hear Wanda screaming down their bond, her singing certainty turn to howling grief as she feels every instant of his pain.

In his mind, he can feel it, rising.

 _No. Halt. Reset_.

But he can’t. He can’t.

He sends his _Love you_ to Wanda as he says his final words, and hears Wanda’s scream, still echoing, as he fades away to death.

 

* * *

 

**Author's Note:**

> Please leave comments!


End file.
